Apache Flame (10 page)

There was no question about it. She had to put Mitch out of
her mind.

If she only knew how.

* * * * *

Alisha was still thinking about Mitch, or rather, trying
not
to think about Mitch, when she got home after school. She put her coat in the
closet; placed the stack of papers she was going to grade after dinner on the
table in the kitchen.

“Papa?” Running a hand over her hair, she went into the
parlor, expecting to find her father reading the newspaper, but he wasn’t
there. “Papa?” She went into his study, but he wasn’t at his desk, either.

Thinking he must have gone to visit one of his parishioners,
she went into the kitchen to make dinner.

She was peeling potatoes when she heard a crash from the
back of the house. Wiping her hands on her apron, she left the kitchen. “Papa,
is that you?”

She looked in the parlor, in his bedroom, in her own, but
saw nothing. Wondering if she was hearing things, she headed back to the
kitchen. She was passing her father’s study when she heard a low groan.

Pausing, she glanced inside. At first, she didn’t see or
hear anything, and then she heard a scraping noise, and her father’s voice
whispering her name.

“Papa?”

“Here.”

Hurrying into the room, she walked around the desk, gasped
when she saw her father lying on the floor. “Papa! What happened?”

She knelt beside him, wondering how long he had been lying
there. “Papa?” His face was chalk-white, his breathing shallow and uneven.
“Don’t move, Papa, I’ll go get the doctor.”

She started to rise, but he grabbed her hand.
“No…no…time…listen to me…”

“It can wait.”

“No.” His hand clutched hers. “Lied…to you.”

“It’s all right. Rest now.”

She tried to free her hand from his, but he held on
tenaciously.

“Baby…not…dead.”

“Papa, we can talk later. You need a…” The words died in her
throat. “Baby? What baby?”

“Yours.”

She stared at him, everything else momentarily forgotten.
“What are you saying?”

“Sent it…away…baby.”

“Away? Where? Why?”

“Gave it to…McBride. Told him…to…get rid of it.”

James McBride was an old friend of the family. He and her
father had attended the seminary together. His church was in Dawes City, the
town where Alisha had gone to wait out her pregnancy. Her son was alive. He
would be four years old now, hardly a baby anymore.

“How could you?” Alisha exclaimed. “How could you do such a
terrible thing?”

“Thought…it was for…the best.” His eyes closed and he took a
deep shuddering breath. “Forgive…me.”

Forgive him? How could she ever forgive him for what he’d
done? He had lied to Mitch, lied to her. She wanted to yell at him, to strike
out at him, but he moaned softly, bringing her back to the present. His face
was pinched and gray, and fear shot through her. She would get to the bottom of
this later. Right now, her father needed help, and quickly. “I’m going to get
the doctor.”

His hand fell away from hers, and she scrambled to her feet.
Grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa, she covered her father. Then, lifting
her skirts, she ran out of the house and down the road toward the doctor’s
office.

Her baby was alive. The wonder of it, the joy of it, rose up
within her, only to be smothered by the memory of her father’s pale face. “Oh,
God,” she prayed, “please don’t let him die.” No matter what he’d done, he was
her father, and she loved him.

She pounded her fist on the doctor’s door, hurriedly
explained that her father needed help immediately, then turned and ran all the
back home.

Her father had lied to her. Her baby, her son, was alive.

When she reached the house, she ran into the den and knelt
at her father’s side. “Papa?” She shook his shoulder lightly. “Papa!”

His eyelids fluttered open and he summoned a weak smile.
“Please,” he said, his voice barely audible, “don’t…hate…me…”

“Papa? Papa!” She shook his shoulder again as the spark of
life slowly faded from her father’s eyes. “Papa, don’t leave me! I forgive you,
Papa,” she said, sobbing, “please don’t leave me.”

She looked up, her vision blurred by tears, as the doctor
rushed into the room. He quickly examined her father, checked for a pulse, for
a heartbeat, then slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Faraday.”

She nodded, hardly aware that he was lifting her to her
feet, helping her to the sofa, telling her not to worry, he would take care of
everything.

But all she could think of was that her father was dead, and
her son was alive.

Chapter Eleven

Never had the house seemed so big, or so quiet. Alisha stood
at her bedroom window, staring out into the darkness beyond. Doctor Stoner had
arranged to have her father’s body taken to the undertaker. She had sent a wire
to James McBride asking if he would come and conduct the funeral service. He
had sent his condolences, and advised he would be there tomorrow night. The
service would be the following morning.

The good women of the Ladies’ Aid Society had immediately
gone to work. They had brought her enough food to feed an army, and promised
more would be forthcoming. Her father had been the town’s sole spiritual
advisor for twenty-five years, and had been loved by one and all. Even those
who did not attend church had come to him for help and advice. He had never
turned anyone away.

She heard a knock at the front door and knew it was Roger,
come to make sure she was all right.

She blinked back her tears as she went downstairs. She
wasn’t all right. She doubted if she would ever be all right again. Her whole
world had turned upside down. Her father was dead, but her son was alive
.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

She forced a smile as she opened the door. “Hello, Roger,”
she said. “Come in.”

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’ll be all right.”

She went into the parlor, and he followed her.

“Alisha…”

She heard the love and concern in his voice, saw it
reflected in the gentle depths of his gray eyes, and it was her undoing. With a
sob, she went into his arms. She needed someone to hold her, someone to tell
her everything would be all right. She wanted Mitch, needed Mitch, but he wasn’t
here and she didn’t know where he’d gone.

Roger held her tight, his hand stroking her back as he
soothed her tears with soft words of comfort. But she found no comfort in his
arms, or in his words, and she knew, in that instant, that she could never marry
Roger Smithfield. She didn’t love him the way a woman should love the man she
was going to spend the rest of her life with, and she never had. Before Mitch
came back into her life, she had been prepared to settle for less, but not now.

When her tears subsided, he led her to the sofa and sat
down, drawing her down beside him. “Alisha, I know this may not be the right
time, but…” He took her hands in his. “I think we should think about getting
married next month instead of in June.”

“Next month?” She looked at him, astonished. How could he
talk about changing the date of the wedding now, with her father lying cold and
still at the undertaker’s?

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, “but this house belongs
to the church. They’ll be getting a new pastor soon, and you’ll be needing a
place to live. If we get married next month, you can move into the new house,
with me.”

“Roger…”

“Just think about. I know some folks will say it’s unseemly,
our getting married so soon after your father’s passing, but I’m sure most of
them will understand.”

“I can’t think about it now.” She stood up, needing to put
some space between them. “I’m really tired, Roger.”

“Of course.” He stood up. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll see
you tomorrow.”

Alisha nodded.

Roger kissed her cheek, murmured, “goodbye”, and left the
house, quietly closing the door behind him.

“Oh, Mitchy,” she whispered tremulously. “Why aren’t you
here? I need you so.”

* * * * *

“The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof; the
world, and they that dwell therein. For he hath founded it upon the seas, and
established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? Or
who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart…”

Reverend James McBride paused in reading the 24
^th
Psalm and looked out over the mourners. “We can, all of us, be certain that our
brother, Russell, has ascended the hill of the Lord and taken his place with
the saints…”

Clad in a high-necked black bombazine gown and veiled black
bonnet, Alisha stood beside Roger while Reverend McBride offered a glowing
eulogy, recounting Russell Faraday’s life and accomplishments, his generous
nature, his willingness to spend his life in tireless service to others.

Alisha glanced around. It looked like the whole town had
turned out to bid a last farewell to her father. He would have been pleased and
embarrassed by such a show of affection from the members of his flock.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her
thoughts not on what James McBride was saying, but on the talk she would have
with him later that night. He was the only one who knew what had happened to
her child, and as he bowed his head and prayed over the earthly remains of
Russell Matthew Faraday, Alisha offered a prayer of her own that her son was
still alive and that, somehow, she would find him.

* * * * *

It seemed as though the whole town came to the house after
the service.

They offered Alisha their condolences, spoke fondly of her
father as they reminisced about the part he had played in their lives. Mrs.
Neibich recounted the time Russell had sat up all night with her husband,
keeping him company while she was in labor with her first child. Mr. Thomas
mentioned how grateful he had been for her father’s words of comfort and
counsel when his daughter ran away to marry a no-account traveling salesman.

Alisha listened and nodded and made polite responses to each
of them, and all the while she was thinking of her son, wondering what Mitch
would say when he found out.

It was near dusk when the last mourner took his leave. Roger
left a few minutes later. She knew he was hurt that she hadn’t asked him to
stay, but she needed to talk to James McBride, and she needed to talk to him
alone.

With a sigh, Alisha closed the door behind him. Removing her
bonnet, she took several deep breaths, then went into the parlor where James
McBride was waiting. He was short where her father had been tall, his blond
hair graying at the temples. His eyes were kind as he smiled at her.

“Can I get you anything, Reverend?” she asked.

“No, child. Come,” he said, patting the seat on the sofa
beside him, “sit down a spell. You look a mite peaked.”

Alisha smiled wanly as she sat down. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yes. I shall miss my old friend. He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was.” Alisha folded her hands tightly in her lap.
“I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Well, of course,” James McBride replied, his tone slightly
indignant.

“What happened to my baby? Where is he now?”

The good Reverend stared at her, his mouth agape.

“Papa told me, just before he…before he passed on, that my
son is alive.”

James McBride exhaled deeply, then nodded. “It’s true.”

“Where is he? Do you know? Is he all right?”

“He’s with the Apache, Alisha. He was a fine, healthy baby.”
McBride shrugged. “I couldn’t be saying if he’s still alive.”

“What Apache? Where?”

“There was a mountain man in town the night your son was
born. I asked him if he knew of any Indians in the area. He said there was a
tribe camped at Apache Pass, that they would take him in and raise him as one
of their own.”

Alisha nodded, her mind racing. Her baby was alive, and
living with the Apache. Was it coincidence or the hand of God that had sent her
baby to Mitch’s people?

“Thank you, Reverend.”

“I’m sorry, Alisha. There were many times when I wanted to
tell you, but I had given your father my word that I would never speak of it.”

She shook her head. “How could you keep such a secret from
me all these years?”

“Your father thought it was for the best, and so did I.”

“And neither of you thought to ask me?”

“You were hardly more than a child yourself.”

“I was almost seventeen!”

James McBride held his hands out, palms up. “I’m sorry,
Alisha. I hope one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. And to
forgive your father. We both did what we thought was best for you at the time.”

“What about my son?” Rising, she began to pace the floor,
her agitation growing as she thought of her son being raised by Indians. At
first, knowing her son was with Mitch’s people had seemed like a blessing, but
now she thought about what it really meant. He would never learn to read or
write or do his sums, never read the Bible or attend church. He would grow up
wild and savage, never knowing who his real mother was. “Did either of you
think about what was best for him?”

James McBride stood up, his expression somber. “At the time,
your father’s only concern was for you. Perhaps he was misguided in his
decision, perhaps not. But it’s over and done now. You need to put the past
behind you, Alisha. There’s nothing to be gained by brooding over that which
cannot be changed.”

“Put it behind me!” she exclaimed, her anger escalating. “My
son is alive, and you tell me to put it behind me? I can’t do that.” She blew
out a deep breath. “Thank you for coming, Reverend.”

“Alisha…”

“Good night, Reverend.”

He stood up slowly, his expression troubled. “Good night,
child.”